Relatively Risky (20 page)

“I'll walk the rest of the way.” He looked around. “Get more people here, Higgins.”

He had to jog for over a block, then turn a corner—there it was. Ben's car. It looked like it was parked against the curb. Not a bad job except for the truck embedded in the back half. He rubbed his aching head, which jogging had not helped.

A Lucky Dog cart hovered near the outer edge of the melee. He shook his head. He'd seen them beat the cops to an accident scene more than once, but it still surprised him.

Speaking of which, the crowd looked unruly, angry—except for those buying dogs—and the center of angry was a big guy yelling and gesticulating to someone inside Ben's car. Driver's side. Sirens in the distance. One of them an ambulance.

He started forward, used his badge to shift people out of the way. He felt a need to get to the car quickly—while reluctant to see what was inside. Who was inside. Some uniforms arrived from the other direction, also on course for the heart of the accident. He sorted through the jumble, saw five cars in addition to Ben's, either smashed together or damaged.

Alex reached the big mad guy and tapped him on the shoulder. When he didn't turn fast enough, he spun him around. And saw—
Nell
. He shoved the bully to the side and bent to look inside.

She gripped the steering wheel, staring out the windshield, beads of sweat turning her hair damp around her face. She was pale and had blood trickling down the visible side of her face but she was alive. Relief almost took out his knees.

Beyond her, on the passenger side was—his brain almost froze. Curly? He tapped on the window when he wanted to smash it. “Nell?”

After what felt like a long pause, she turned and looked at him, relief breaking over her face like a wave. She fumbled with the door, got it open, tried to scramble out and couldn't. She looked surprised by that.

“You're still buckled.”

“Oh. Right.” She looked down like she didn't know how to unbuckle. Maybe she didn't.

Alex reached in and released her seat belt. She fell forward into his arms. Heat from the car came out with her. Lots of nasty, but not enough to make him move. He hugged her tight. Muttered soothing crap. It seemed to help. Her trembling began to ease.

“Are you all right?” he asked at the same time she asked him same question.

A spurt of laughter shook her, or maybe it was tears. She scrubbed her face with one hand, glanced a bit uncertainly around.

“He…I thought…I saw you…” She buried her face in his shoulder again.

“It's okay. I'm fine.” He had to add, “Nice parking spot.”

A muffled chuckle. Then a sigh. “Your brother won't think so.”

Another pause, but Alex couldn't disagree with her, so he just grunted comfortingly.

“His gun is under my seat. I took it from him after—”

She shuddered and he patted her some more. Then Curly gave a groan. Alex knew he probably had at least one more weapon unaccounted for, maybe two, if he'd brought his own with him. Which he should have.

“Can you stand?”

“I think I'd rather sit.” She shifted to the side, sinking onto the street with her back against the car. Used her sleeve to wipe her face.

Still no color. A bruise formed around swelling on her forehead. Bleeding looked to have slowed some, though. They both owed Curly one. He crawled in and did a swift search, extracted two more weapons. Handed two of them off to a hovering uniform and stowed his back where it belonged. Then he crouched down by Nell and waited for Curly to notice him. He groaned a few times, finally turning his head and meeting Alex's hard gaze.

He blinked. Puzzled first. He glanced around. Alex saw the moment when memory dots connected. There was a mix of defiance and shame in his eyes.

“Alex—”

“Save it for your lawyer.”

N
ell watched
as the EMTs extracted Curly from Ben's car and settled him on a stretcher. Curly kept his eyes closed. Perhaps he sensed Alex's stony glare following him, until he'd been stowed in the ambulance. Behind the fury, Nell sensed pain. He'd been a family friend. His dad's friend and partner. That was a worry. Nell had no frame of reference for judging Zach, except by his kids. Until the swamp of her parents' past has oozed up into her life, Nell would have taken that as proof Zach was clean. Now….

Without comment Nell submitted to her own period of assessment while Alex strode around securing the crime scene and looking tough and yes, tragic. He had this wrinkle between his brows that made her knees go weak. She needed to quit mooning and start thinking about how to survive. It was more important than how to get the cop to kiss her again. Though if she was going to die—

She shifted, trying to ease the stabbing pain in her side.

“Something hurting you?” The EMT asked.

Nell put her hand to her side and realized she still had a handgun stowed there. She'd shot someone. And left the scene. Was that going to be a problem? She didn't think it would be a good idea to produce it in such a cop-intensive environment. They were all peeved at her, even though it was Curly who was dirtier than the gutters. Would that make them trigger happy? She did not want to find out. So she smiled a bit stiffly at the EMT and said, “Everything hurts right now, but not—”

He seemed satisfied by her answer. He got up and handed her an ice pack. Nell must have looked confused.

“For your black eye.”

“I have a black eye?” Great. She applied the pack to the indicated eye.

“You probably ought to have your head examined.”

Not good to have someone say that to her two days in a row.

“Can I get my head examined later or do I have to do it now?”

The EMT shone a light in one eye, then the other. Considered it for several seconds. “You can go, but you need to follow up with your own doctor.”

He was in Wyoming, but Nell didn't mention that. Just nodded. If she didn't figure things out, her next doctor visit was likely to be with a coroner anyway. Now there was a happy thought to add to all the rest. She gave herself a mental shake. Doing it for real would hurt like a son of a gun. She was a librarian for Pete's sake, not a quitter or a whiner or—a wise kid. She didn't have time to wait for the headache to clear. Suck it up time, as her dad used to say. That was one advantage she had. She didn't know this—didn't know their past. She didn't know the wise family, didn't know who they'd been, but she knew
them
. She knew her parents, obviously not as much as she'd thought, but they'd raised her. They might have tried to keep this from her, but they had to know that could change. They had to know the past could come back to bite them—or Nell—on the butt.

Her best friend lived in New Orleans. They couldn't have kept her away forever, despite the spirited attempts to do just that. That must have caused them some heart burnings, but they knew Nell, too. They'd raised her so—

They'd prepared her.
Her dad prepared for everything. He'd been a walking plan. She needed to sort through the past, through the homilies and lessons and things that didn't look like lessons then, but probably were in hindsight. And then all she had to do was figure out which ones applied to this. She blinked. It hurt, but she persisted. Okay, the teaching her to shoot was obvious. Those hours at the shooting range, balanced against the family budget? Yeah, that was one of the lessons. It hadn't seemed like it at the time. Most everyone in the state shot at something at least once. But what else?

Have a plan.

Suck it up.

If you're not dead, then you're all right.

Yeah, those were part of it. So what had been their plan for this? For the big reveal? There had to be something in the stuff she had—unless she'd given it away—no, she decided. They knew her. They would have made sure she didn't give away the farm—and just like that she knew. She
knew
.

A
lex was relieved
to drive away from the crash site, even if it was in a rental car. He was surprised he'd managed to get one, though his insurance company probably hadn't had time to black ball him yet. It had barely been twenty-four hours since his truck went down.

He glanced at Nell. She stared out her window, as if the street were more interesting than it actually was. She had her elbow propped on the edge of the window so she could hold the ice pack over her eye.

He cleared his throat. “How—are you all right?”

She looked at him with her uncovered eye. “My mom used to tell me, if you're alive, then you're all right.” A pause. “Lessons from the former wise kids. Kinda gives it new twist or something knowing that…”

Her grin was crooked. Her tone was wry. Her sigh made his chest tighten. He felt an all too familiar sense of not knowing what to do. With six sisters, it was almost a constant. “They were kids.”

“Yeah. It's kind of hard to imagine your parents as kids and then…” She adjusted the pack and sighed again. Silence reigned for a couple of blocks.

“I saw it, well, one of them.”

“Saw what?” It felt like he missed a beat. Also familiar feeling.

“Toni's tomb. The place where my mom isn't buried.”

“Oh.” Was that good? Bad? No clue.

“Someone had left forget-me-nots there. They were pretty.”

Most flowers were, weren't they? Did he know what forget-me-nots looked like?

“I wondered if someone didn't want to be forgotten? Or they didn't want to forget?” She looked at him. “It's kind of sweet.”

Women always thought flowers were sweet.

He cleared his throat. “Did it…help…with your…problem?” He'd like to know he got shot at and tanked his brother's car for something.

“Oddly enough, it did.”

He did not know what to ask.

“It's like, I've been trying to connect the dots between then and now and—”

When the silence drew long, he reluctantly prompted, “And did you?” He had to admit, he'd never tried to connect his dad to anything. Wasn't big on connecting dots if there weren't bodies involved. He kind of winced, since this one did involve bodies. Lots of them.

“Yes and no.” Her smile was wry, a bit sad. “I'll probably never be able to wrap my head around my parents being those two kids.”

“Don't suppose anyone can with their parents.” Of course he'd seen pictures of his dad, of his mom, when they were young, but they didn't look like his parents. Not even slightly.

“They were just kids,” he said, surprised when he shouldn't be, he supposed. He'd known, but he hadn't
known
it. At eighteen he'd headed for college, not into hiding—well, it was a kind of hiding. He glanced at Nell. “What were you doing at seventeen?”

The hand holding the ice pack lowered, as if she'd forgotten it, allowing both eyes to widen, then narrow in thought. She looked pretty cute with a shiner. She'd surprised him again, crashing the car and disabling Curly. Not to mention walking out of that cemetery alive. Her mom and dad would be proud of her. They should be proud of themselves, too. In some weird way, they'd managed to prepare her for this, while totally not preparing her for this. His temple throbbed a bit. His brain didn't like this kind of non-crime-solving thinking. Never had.

“Seventeen. Oh wow.” She half sighed. “Semi-painful. Graduating, not top of class, but not bottom.” A slight smile curved her mouth. “So excited to be going somewhere, I didn't mind—” She stopped.

“Mind?”

“My parents talking me into becoming a librarian.”

“Instead of art?” he guessed.

She nodded. “They were big on practical. I guess pregnant at seventeen and fleeing for your lives does that to parents.”

“Would do that to most people,” he agreed, using the pause for a light to study her. Wondering why he felt uneasy. There was a slight frown between her brows. Combined with swelling, it gave her a puckish look. “You didn't mind leaving your high school sweetheart behind?” It was the fishing kind of question he usually only used in interrogations, but since he couldn't call it back...

She looked down, tracing the printing on the ice pack. “Didn't have a boyfriend, though I had a serious crush on Luke Skywalker.”

“Luke? I thought all the girls went for Han Solo.”

“I was a geek. He didn't have a girl. I didn't have a guy. I felt a bond.” Her grin was cute and it chased some of the shadows from her eyes. “What about you?”

“Me? I was desperate to leave.” Would have crawled on his hands and knees to get away. “School dorm was a fortress of solitude compared to home.”

“Wow? Seriously?” He nodded. “It freaked me out for about five minutes. There were probably more people in the one building than my whole town. And then Sarah—”

“—formed the band?”

She chuckled. “That came later. She came in and looked at me for what seemed a long time. She was beautiful, confident—everything I wasn't—and I was sure she was disappointed in her roommate, cause girls totally daydream about that stuff at seventeen. And then she…smiled and I knew it was going to be fine. Great even. We stayed roomies for the whole four. Are friends forever.”

“Must have freaked your folks for you to get a New Orleans roommate. Did they seem upset when you visited?”

Nell looked rueful. “I never did. They were good. I never suspected a plot. Bright bulb, aye?”

“Parents know what buttons to push,” Alex said, with a touch of bitterness. Look at him, living with his dad again. And wondering what Calvino had to say to him. Afraid to ask. His hands gripped the steering wheel. It was one thing to wonder if Curly was a bit crooked. But knowing his dad had been his partner—he'd never wondered before. Until Calvino. Wished he'd punched the guy.

“That they do.” Nell sounded more resigned than bitter. “I'm still trying to wrap my brain around a grandmother who was wooed by three bad dudes and then fled with her lover into the night. Not the grandma you dream about.” She hesitated, as if considering a tough question. “Do you think she really is dead?”

“Legally she is.” Could she have hidden like her daughter? Be out there somewhere? Maybe with a life insurance policy? She'd have needed something to elude Calvino. The case against her was as compelling as the one against Nell's parents. Curly had implied he'd known Nell's mom survived, that he'd helped her, but now Alex wondered. He'd been pretty shook up for someone in the know. It didn't matter now. Grabbing Nell had sealed his deal, of course, but it did make a cop think. And wonder….

“It's kind of funny, in a way.”

“What is?” He blinked, impressed she'd found anything funny in the situation.

“You know too much about your family. And I know too little.” Her grin was brave, a bit ragged around the edges. Looked good with the shiner.

But she was wrong. He didn't know enough about his dad. Not nearly enough.

T
hey were almost
to the house and Nell still hadn't found a way to tell Alex about the guy she'd shot.

Oh, by the way, I popped a guy in the cemetery.

So there was this guy with a gun and I had to shoot him…

No matter how many different ways Nell tried, it just sounded…creepy. Wise kid-ish. Were there right words for admitting you'd shot someone? All those years of movies, TV and books and nothing to help with the problem. How sad was that? With confession time running out, Nell let her thoughts edge up to the actual shooting. It had surprised her how easy it was. That she hadn't hesitated. Was it the wise DNA? Or her training? Whatever the reason, it had probably saved her life, but still, didn't one pause and reflect or something? Have that split second moment where you made a conscious choice?

Even now she felt worse about the goon who'd given her his gun than the guy she shot. Maybe if she had to look at him on a slab. Or in the eyes. Maybe it came later? Post traumatic something or other? Not a lot of catch-your-breath time yet. And she'd about ran out of confessing time. She still hadn't figured out how to tell the cop she'd shot someone. Shot sounded better than,
I killed a guy
. She didn't know he was dead. He probably was. She might not drive straight, but her shooting…

Maybe if she'd been raised wise—no. That wouldn't have helped. They never confessed. They called lawyers.

She glanced at Alex, caught him glancing at her. He looked puzzled, possibly a bit worried. Of course he was worried. And more than a bit. He had to face his dad, tell him about Curly, and then tell Ben about his car. All of which had happened because she drove her bike into his car jacking.

“I am so sorry.” She could tell him about the shooting, hand over the gun later. It wasn't cowardice. It was kindness. Okay, so it was cowardice
and
kindness. Whatever. No need to pile on the bad news until it was time to pile it on.

Nell showed Alex how to get into the driveway that snaked between the back of the house and what used to be the carriage house in the old days. He pulled to a stop behind his dad's car and turned off the ignition but didn't reach for door handle.

“I should be the one to tell your brother about his car,” Nell muttered. “It's all my fault.”

“You didn't hire the shooters.”

“Definitely not in my budget.” She frowned. “I wonder who did hire them? And who they were hired to—” She stopped. She didn't really wonder that, at least, not now. They had to have been after Calvino and Afoniki. It was the only thing that made sense—if anything could. At the moment, all she wanted was to go into the house and not leave until the shooting stopped. She needed a bathroom, too.

“Time to face the music.”

Nell grinned. “Air guitar or drums?”

Alex grinned back, shoved open the door and came around to open hers. She couldn't hide a grimace as her body protested movement.

“Are you sure you shouldn't be in an ER?”

Oh temptation. “If this goes badly, we'll both need an ER,” Nell said, a bit wryly.

Alex didn't disagree, which told her more than she wanted to know about how things would probably go down.

Alex pulled out his phone and activated the screen. He frowned. “Still nothing from Ben. He might have been called in to work.”

Nell didn't know if she should be worried or grateful. She didn't feel like the same gal who'd thrown her leg over her bike yesterday morning and ridden off into the rising sun, or possibly away from it.

She let her gaze trail over him as he started to put his cell away. He was a good man. Some women liked bad boys, thought good was boring. Now, more than ever, Nell was grateful he was good. He wasn't at all boring. He looked good, kissed better—was she bad to be thinking this stuff right now? Last time she'd asked—but last time she'd been Nell, the wait/author/librarian. She'd added quite a few more tags to her identity in the last two days. Would it come out who she was? If it did—like she'd had a shot at him anyway.

He'd kissed her like she had a shot.

He was divorced, probably had baggage left over from that. Everyone seemed to, if one believed the talk shows and reality television.

He didn't like kids and she seemed to attract them like flypaper. Three strikes, actually probably more than three. She was too tired to add them all up. It was easier to just accept that she was out. What was it about her grandmother, and to some extent her mom, that had attracted guys? And why hadn't they passed any of it on to her?

Before Alex could stow the cell, it vibrated insistently. He looked at the number. “It's Frank. I'd better take it.”

Nell couldn't remember where Frank fit in, though she was sort of sure he was a sib. She nodded, then pulled the door open and slipped inside. Maybe if she confessed before Alex came in, Ben would be mostly over it. Or not blame Alex for it. She headed down the long hall that had been the servants entrance back in the day, reaching what was now the mud room. She stopped in surprise at the sight of the goon waiting there. He looked at her. She looked at him. He'd been with old lady St. Cyr, she realized. Why had she come back? Nell wasn't sure she cared, except for being too tired to deal with formidable right now. She blinked and realized the goon's mouth had curved up into a sort of smile. He wasn't good at it, but perhaps goons didn't get a lot of opportunities to smile.

She tipped up the edges of her mouth, all she felt capable of. “Hi.”

His smile widened, though it still kind of sucked as a smile. “Yo.”

She blinked, wondering why she was surprised to hear him speak. Of course goons had voices, even if they didn't use them a lot around the boss. She searched for something else to say. Didn't find anything. She wished Alex would hurry. She felt uneasy, with no discernible reason why. Well, except for the goon part. She studied him almost absently. Wondered where his partner was, while glad he wasn't here staring at her, too. The artist in her took note that he looked older than…what? Guess she'd always thought, in a vague sort of way, that goons were on the young side. That they had a prime, like guys in sports. He wasn't bad looking. Blonde. Cold gray eyes. A Bad boy, but not a sexy one. Just a creepy, middle aged one.